minecraft mob talker mixed with the french and indian war
by SwiftAssassin123
Summary: A minecraft mob talker mixed with the french and indian war story. my brainchild
1. Chapter 1

Chapter:0, Prologue

Starting in 1754, a horrible war raged through the land, even after only its first year, it plagued the land like wildfire. Men and women, both of human and mob origins, fought in lines on some distant battlefield. Dressed in flashy uniforms of red and white, they fired volleys at the enemy lines, and the enemy did the same. After 2 or 3 shots, one of the sides would fix bayonets and charge the other line. It was a cruel war, with thousands dead. It was fought all over the globe like this, but not so much in a small corner in minecraftia, across the ocean from the other battlefields. A not so respected area, where people escaped to so they can escape the horrible war, and live their lives freely. They were wrong. The enemy side wanted the northern and southern area of this so called, " Colony". Then the country who didn't care for the colonists suddenly cared, and send thousands of soldiers. They prepared for a war that was completely different than what they understood.

The enemy had been in that area for decades, training soldiers to fight like the native warriors that called the colonies home for milenia. They dressed like them, equipped their militia and soldiers like them, and even procreated with them to gain their trust. The colonists had done this as well, but as a means of survival and necessity. Instead of swords they carried clubs and hatchets intended for trading with the natives. Instead of gaiters and leather belts around their legs, they wore leather and wool leggings and woven leg ties to supplement their dwindling supplies of uniforms. They shortened their muskets and uniforms to fight comfortably in the dense forests of the colonies. A sword or saber was unfit for forest warfare, and was only worn as a sign of rank most of the time. Most of the enemy soldiers wore hatchets along with their bayonet because they had multiple uses. Chop firewood as well as human limbs, it was a brutal, but a perfect pair with a fighting knife in the forest.

Now, as luck would have it, our hero is on the colonist side of this war. This light skinned, brown haired trapper had been fighting most of his life. He wasn't all that old when the war started. He was 16 at the time. His parents and siblings were killed in a native raid to his village when he was off hunting. The only thing that was left to him was his father's prised hunting sword that he had to take back from the native warrior who pried it out of his fathers dead hands as a trophy. He had to scavenge and use what he had to survive. He holed up at a camp meant for soldiers for a little while until he was pressed into service. He fought in the line infantry for 6 months until he was walking through camp when he spotted a young officer dressed in what seemed in civilian clothing, but he carried the equipment and cartridge box of a soldier. He later learned that those humans and mobs fought for their colonies, not for the country across the sea. They were militia, who didn't fight like line infantry. They fought from behind trees and boulders and didn't have to answer to the fat cats that led the line infantry from a horse 200 yards behind the battlefield. He then pulled some strings and bribed some officers with some tobacco he liberated from an officers tent and was then drafted into the militia as a scout. And that is where our story starts off...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The scout

'Bugger, Bugger, Bugger', he whispered to himself as he ran through the forest. ''BUGGER" he screams once more as he hears a native war cry from his right side. He carried his musket in his left hand and had his hunting sword drawn in his right. His job at that point in time, (before the plan went tits up), was to scout out the enemy movements for his commanding officer and report back to him. Well, it just so happened that he had a cold at the time, so as he was counting the soldiers in the camp, he let out a single, soft cough. It was barely loud enough that he could barely hear it himself, but the native allies for the enemy heard it. They spotted him right away and here is where our story starts off. He knew there was a friendly camp not too far from his location at this point in time, and he knew there would be sentries stationed near it. There were 3 natives chasing and shooting at him now, and he used his musket shot to shoot at the enemy officer in the camp he was running away from. He tripped and fell on a stone and a native was on him at once. He pinned him to the ground and was just about to slit his throat when a musket shot rang out. The native was still for a moment. Everything was normal except for the gaping hole in his chest. He fell off to the side when 3 other rangers appeared out of the brush, saving his sorry ass.

 _Two hours later_

He is sitting beside a small fire, cooking his measly dinner of parched corn and jerky in a watery soup. He sat against a tree, smoking a clay pipe, while he watched his meal boil away in a small pot. A ranger dressed in green and brown sat next to him, leaning his battered and worn musket against the tree. " you're a little young to be out here, boy. What are you doing out here?''. ( **now seems like a good place to describe our young hero. He is at this point in the war, 17 years old. I based the look of him off of me when i had long hair. He has long brown hair, almost a foot long and tied back with a leather strip. His eyes are brown, with a scar slashed across his left eye. He wore a green hunting shirt, with brown knee breeches and leather, beaded leggings tied to a thin belt he wore under his shirt around his waist. His moccasins were worn and patched in multiple places, greased to provide a small amount of water resistance. He carried a short musket, similar to the 1776 british trade musket, look it up if you're curious. Make up the sword if you like, i know what it's supposed to look like. He wore a black, wide brimmed hat pinned up in the back with a bit of trade silver. Okay, back to the story** ). His brown eyes shined in the firelight. " i was pressed into service, then volunteered for the provincials about 4 months ago. Line infantry wasn't my cup of tea, and i don't like the color red. It's too bright. ". he took his kettle off the fire to let it cool enough to eat. He noticed a group of girls, not much older than he was, if not the same age, huddling around a smoldering pile of sticks. They seemed to be trying to keep their friend warm, who was hurt. She had grey eyes, and silver hair, and what seemed to be a bow and a quiver of arrows next to her. She was dressed in grey as well, almost similar to the ranger garb, but with grey instead of green. It was similar with the other girls as well, except they wore different colors. One wore black, and she had black hair and purple eyes, which he could have swore were glowing, the other a bright green uniform, brighter than the rangers, who let her red hair flow instead of tying it up into a bun,and had yellow eyes , and one wore native style clothing, but was dyed a bright red, and she had blonde, almost yellow hair,and had eyes similar to the green girl. They were lightly armed, with knives and a pistol each accept the archer. The red one, instead of a pistol, carried a blunderbuss with a brass barrel. They had no pack, or even any pouch or horn to load their firearms. He sighed, " excuse me, major." he nodded his way and brought the measly meal to the girls. " you need to eat" he says, setting the pot down. He started the fire and brought his remaining firewood over to it." What are your names? " he asks them, setting the rest of his parched corn next to the unconscious one. The blonde one spoke, " Im blazette, and this is andr, cupa, and yurei, and we need to get home''. He leaned against a tree, taking off his hat. He slid the pipe out from the back where he kept it and he packed it with cured tobacco. " where is home to you, then?'' he asks, lighting the end of a stick to light his pipe. Andr replies quietly, " its west, past the mountain range. Near a massive lake." he puffed on his pipe more, " so in native and enemy territory. Got it." he blew a smoke ring and blew a smaller one through it, '' my home is near there as well. I know the lake. Can never go hungry there, so much fish''. He called the major over, " can i use that favor you owe me? They need arms and food and an escort into territory that i know very well. " . he shook his head, " how did i guess. Fine, you can escort them there. Take some time off as well, i dont want to see you for over 2 months. Bring some enemy scalps when you come back. ". he shook the majors hand, " thank you, major. And about the weapons and food?''. He points to a pile of enemy weapons and gear on the ground, " take what you like. Theyre shite anyway". They had a habit of talking smack on enemy gear, but it was more effective most of the time. He equipped them with muskets and a cartridge box each, for that is just what was there at the time. They were each given a ration of food and a canteen. " as soon as she is healed, we are gone. I want to get there before winter"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2: The wait

He slept near the group until morning. He woke up just before dawn for his daily scout. He was to report to the major, get his daily ration of flour and meat, and get ready for the scout. He was going south this time, to a suspected camp. He left his rations with blazette, who was already awake. " be careful" she says to him. " i don't have a choice" he says, dropping off everything other than his powder horn, shooting bag, knife, sword, and his musket. He even left his hat behind. He needed to have as much speed as possible if he had to run. He stalked his way through the woods with 2 other rangers, with him as lead scout. He stopped and kneeled down, resting the musket in the cradle of his arm. It was shorter than most infantry muskets of the time, maybe about a 30 inch barrel. It was ideal for forest warfare, and buckshot was its best friend. The barrel was browned too, to keep it from shining and giving away his position. They snuck through the forest towards their target, maybe 10 miles away from the camp they were staying at, making sure they weren't being followed. About 5 miles in, something didn't feel right. It was quiet. Quieter than what it should be. No birds were chirping. Someone was following them. He made a hand signal to turn back, making a U shape, facing the trail they just made. They planned on ambushing the ambushers. They set up positions on either side of the trail and waited. They waited until finally, they saw movement about 100 yards away. They must have been from the camp that they were going to scout, because they had the uniforms of who was stationed there. A couple enemy marines dressed in blue waistcoat and breeches stomped through the woods, obviously cocky that they were going to win. Well, little did they know, they had been in their sights for the past 5 minutes. Our hero takes aim at the nearest one, and gives the signal to fire. There were 4 marines, and 3 of them. As they fired, 3 of them fell to the ground, and the last was wounded with buckshot from his musket. The ran over and kicked his musket away from him.

"combien sont à l'avant-poste?"

 _"_ _how many are at the outpost?"_

He replied in his own tongue.

" une armée entière, bâtard de la foule"

" _a whole army, mob bastard"_

He spat in his face when he finished talking. The enemy weren't fond of mobs. He drew his sword and said a little prayer for him. "And Shepherds we shall be For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti". With the last word, he drove the tip of the sword through his throat. "amen" he whispered. " take their scalps and ammunition. Leave them to rot in the sun." one of the rangers asked him, " he called you a "mob", are you?" he asked, almost angrily. He answered quickly, "I'll give you my pay for this month if you shut your mouth, or I will fill it with shot." this made him quiet down. They took their scalps for the bounty they paid for each and he noticed a small pistol in one of their belts. It must have been a private purchase, because it looked more Spanish. He put it into his own belt and started to walk back, Fuming, his eyes almost glowing with rage. He was a mob, yes. But even though many fought for the colonies, people despise them for their race. Creepers, endermen, skeletons. He was part enderman himself, but he didn't like showing it he was tall, yes, but his parents were of an older race, with green eyes instead of purple. Less strong, but more passive. He learned to control his eyes from glowing or not, but when he was angry he couldn't help it. They walked back to the ranger camp, not saying a word. They followed a different trail back, to keep from being ambushed again. He gets back to his camp and gave the money he got from the scalps to the rangers to keep their mouths shut. He was eager to make sure yurei was okay. He collected his gear and walked over to their camp. To his surprise, yurei was sitting up and eating. The four of them looked sad. "why why the long faces?" he said, tossing each of them an apple he picked while walking back. "well, i have someone waiting for me back at our settlement. " said cupa. She smiled, " his name is pyro…". She stared into the flames. Andr laughed, " we all do. Shadow is probably worried sick right now. We were supposed to be home a month ago." yurei perked up, "arrow as well. He probably has searched everywhere for us by this point". He looked to the ground. "it feels good though, having someone waiting for you at home. Unfortunately, wars aren't fought by lonely, single soldiers. " he sniffled. "alright. Get your shit together. We are leaving tomorrow. You're going to see them soon."


End file.
